A Little Snow Never Hurt Anybody
by Nerdy-Without-A-Doubt
Summary: John Watson, after having his dear flatmate Miss Sherlock Holmes collapse on him from over-exerting herself, has decided a little vacation is in order. He takes her out to a little lodge in the country during the winter, demanding that she rest and not occupy herself with work of any sort. Work finds her, and, well, one thing leads to another. (Female!Sherlock Holmes) (Three-Shot)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I just wanted some fluff, so yeah.  
**

* * *

"Why is it that everywhere I go, you are soon to follow?"

She glared at the man before her, trying not to growl as he guided her onto the dance floor, his hand clasped in hers while the other rested on her side.

"Because, Sherlock, I've come to warn you."

"I do not need your assistance, Mycroft. I am at this damned cabin only upon John's request." She scoffed. "He says I require rest. I can't understand why he would think that."

Her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "Perhaps it was the fact that you collapsed in exhaustion from overworking yourself. Even you require food, Sherlock."

"Speaking of food, how's your diet?" She smiled darkly, knowing she hit a sore topic as embarrassment filled his eyes.

"It is fine, Sherlock. Now listen to me; I am not joking in this matter."

"No, of course not. That is not in the manner of my big brother."

"Silence, Sherlock!" he hissed, drawing her back to him after she finished her twirl. He lowered his voice. "Do you not realize what you are getting yourself into?"

She shook her head, and Mycroft could have screamed with how oblivious his sister was being.

"Sherlock, John has taken you to a cabin in the country," he spelled out slowly. "Alone. With his resting in the same room as yourself. You share a lavatory, kitchen, bedroom, and nearly everything except a bed. Do you not see what he is trying to do?"

"No, I do not."

"You may see a friend, but he most likely wishes for something more-" He cut himself off upon seeing the man being discussed appear in the small ballroom. "Just remember what I've said, Sherlock."

With that, he was gone, but his little sister, younger by seven years, did not know what to make of it. She turned and stalked off the dance floor, her long black coat flowing behind her.

Sherlock Holmes was a tad peculiar if there was any one way to describe her. She had an oddly delicate heart-shaped face accented by almost fluorescent icy blue eyes that seemed to change colors depending on her mood. Long, silky black locks cascaded over her shoulders in waves of dark obsidian, perfectly contrasting her milky white skin. She was perfectly formed, having a gorgeous hourglass figure and curves in the waist and chest that could make any man fall at her feet. In fact, that was exactly her problem. She had had too many men asking to court her, whom she always refused, and this had not settled well with any of them which only added to her list of enemies.

"Sherlock, are you ready?"

"Hmm? Ah yes. I suppose so, John."

Doctor John Hamish Watson… He was a marvel in her eyes. He had the kind of smile that was contagious and a laugh that made you want to join in. He never once pressured her to be something she wasn't aside from the occasional tease. She had told him once that she didn't have friends; she only had one. It was the truth. He was the only one that simply let her be who she was. The occasional "dark mood" would possess her, but he never particularly minded unless she was exceptionally more insufferable. He truly was the greatest friend she could ask for.

"John, I don't understand why you chose this place," she muttered beneath her breath, plopping down in front of the fireplace rather ungracefully as she attempted to warm herself. "I do hope you realize there is no appeal in this."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock. We can make this work. It's cozy, isn't it?" John questioned with a soft smile as he took the poker and began jabbing absentmindedly at the fire logs.

"Cozy?" She could have laughed. "We are in the middle of the woods in a log cabin rented to you from the owner of this bloody resort. Honestly, I pray we don't encounter the others here, but that's not the point here. John, I don't have my nicotine patches, my cigarettes, a case, my skull-!"

"Relax, Sherlock," he laughed, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly as he eased beside her on the hardwood floors. "It's not the end of the world."

Luckily, he didn't hear the soft mutter, "It could be the end of you, you know."

The first night, she spent mostly by herself, anxiously sitting in front of the fire and tossing random kitchen utensils into the fire to see how long they took to burn and/or melt.

"Sherlock, we now have a total of four forks, three spoons, and six knives, would you please stop?"

Her icy eyes darted to him, and, seeing his disapproving look, she sheepishly handed him the kitchen drawer. "Not good?"

"A bit not good," he chuckled, and she couldn't help but notice that nearly everything she did seemed to make him smile or laugh. It amused her, and she was surprised to feel a small smile pull at the corners of her lips as he continued, "You know, if you wanted, you could actually burn something that's supposed to be burned. Like a log perhaps."

"But there's no intrigue in that, John," she protested quietly, slumping to her back at his feet upon not finding a point to sitting up anymore. "I'm bored."

He set the drawer on the table so he could cross his arms against his chest and look down at her. "Well, what would you like to do?"

She groaned. "Nothing that you would approve of."

"Why don't we just get you in bed instead? Maybe some sleep would do you good."

"I'm not tired."

"Read a book?"

"I read the entire bookcase an hour ago."

"It'll be dark in an hour or so, but I guess we could take a walk if you want."

Her head cocked to the side at that, almost considering the offer. "Do I have the right to rummage through and experiment on any dead remains?"

John sighed, throwing on his coat and moving to pull on his boots as he answered, "Let's cross that bridge when we reach it, shall we?"

'I should have never let him talk me into this,' she mentally cursed, trudging through the snow with little to no grace. She tried to step in his footprints, where the snow was pressed, but it was of no help, and she fell multiple times, and one time she just refused to get up.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what's the matter?"

'Oh, he's such a doll to be worried so…' she thought fondly as he immediately came to her side and knelt down beside her.

"Sherlock, come on now. You don't want to lay in the snow. It's cold and wet…" John said, gently placing his glove covered hand on her forehead and stroking the hair away from her face.

She gave him a pointed look. "I know the properties of snow, John. I simply give up."

"Give up? On what?"

"You haven't been aware that I've tripped and fallen face-first at least ten times in the past fifteen minutes?" Sherlock questioned curiously.

He looked shocked and immediately helped her up. "No, I haven't. Are you alright?"

She nodded, unconsciously leaning closer to him as he tossed an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close to his side so she would feel a bit warmer.

"Let's still head back then. I didn't realize that snow was the one thing that could beat you."

"It didn't beat me," she retorted bitterly, wrapping her arms tighter around herself as they began walking back. "I made a tactical surrender."

He laughed. "Of course you did. Now come on; I'm not carrying you."

"Wouldn't dream of letting you."

When they reached the cabin, John gave her the strict order of a warm bath, one which he even readied for her.

"I am fine, John-"

"I'll have none of that now. You need to get out of those wet clothes and into something warm, and a bath will help you do just that. Here's a pair of pajamas from your case, and I don't want to see you out here until at least twenty minutes have passed…"


	2. Chapter 2

John smiled warmly when Sherlock came out of the bathroom exactly twenty minutes later. To be honest, he thought she looked blimey adorable. She had on lavender colored pajamas of a soft cotton, topped by her black fuzzy robe, and her dainty little feet were in matching black slippers. Her hair had obviously been dried with a hair dryer, and her head was sunk against her chest, arms crossed like a child who had lost an argument with their parents.

"Feeling better?" he questioned with a knowing grin, his smile only growing at Sherlock's muttered and inaudible response. He pat the seat next to him, laughing slightly. "Oh, you know you're warmer. Now come on. I've found an old film you might like."

She plopped down onto the couch beside him, not responding as he tenderly tucked a blanket around her shoulders. She was silent the rest of the night, and before he knew it, there was a delicate little head resting in his lap and a body pressed close to his. It was obviously done unconsciously since the poor thing was asleep, and he knew he should have moved her to the bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. She looked so small and delicate, and when she stirred restlessly due to some unknown force, he found himself running a gentle hand through her hair, whispering random soothing thoughts in her ear. "Hush now. It's alright. It's alright. Just go on back to sleep. You're safe…"

He never stopped the soft motion of his hand even as he continued watching the movie. He relished the feel of her soft locks beneath his fingers, and there was something deep down, a tugging in his chest, that said that this was right, this was how it should be.

He woke to a soft movement, and he realized, with a pang, that it was morning, and Sherlock wasn't beside him any longer. He got up and, stretching, went to find her.

"Morning," he greeted with a smile, finding her curled up in a kitchen chair. He moved to sit opposite her, but a hand caught his, making him pause in confusion.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"How much of the movie did I miss?"

She seemed genuinely troubled, but he couldn't seem to figure out why.

"An hour or so. You were pretty tired, and you drifted off after a little while." He laughed lightly. "You kinda fell on me when you were sleeping, but I was too scared of waking you to move."

She nodded thoughtfully, releasing his hand gently. "I see… Thank you, I suppose."

"Now, what'd you like for breakfast?" he asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. "We can get it delivered here from the main hotel, but in this weather I doubt it'd be warm once it got here."

She nodded, but it seemed her mind was still elsewhere. "Highly doubtful."

"Sherlock, what's bothering you? Do you feel well? Your cheeks are flushed…"

He watched with concern as she immediately pulled away from him, muttering, "John, I'm fine."

"Sherlock, you're not fine. Look at me-" he insisted, moving to place his hand on her shoulder, but she immediately flinched at his touch. He pulled away his hand, almost as if he had been burnt, and whispered, "Sherlock, please. I just want to help you."

"You can help me by staying away from me!" she nearly snarled, leaving the poor doctor to simply stare after her as she pulled on her coat and stormed out of their cabin.

"What did I do?" he whispered softly to himself, watching the door bang shut behind her. "Oh, God, what did I do?"


	3. Chapter 3

John trudged through the snow, pulling his parka tighter around him as he walked through the forest. He tugged his hood over his head, teeth chattering as the harsh winds of the snowstorm beat against his face. After that little episode, Sherlock still hadn't returned, and it was nearing nightfall. He was getting worried. She wasn't at any of the other cabins, the main resort, or even the dining hall. She had had on only her bedclothes and coat, and to be in this storm was not going to do her any good.

"Sherlock!" he shouted as loudly as he could manage. "Sherlock, come back please! I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry for it!"

He grit his teeth, ducking his head against the storm and continuing his progress. "Damn it, Sherlock! You'll get yourself killed out here! Where in the name of all that is good are you?"

Then he heard it. It was despairingly soft and weak, but he still heard it over all the storm. It was a soft crying, and it made his heart break. "J-John?"

"Sherlock?! Sherlock, where are you? Just keep talking; I'll find you!"

When he found her, he fell to his knees beside her, not even caring about the cold as he examined the horrifying scene before him. She was tied to the base of a tree, forced to sit in the snow that was at her waist by now. She was stripped of her coat and scarf, and she seemed almost blue. Her normally bright eyes were cloudy and dark with pain and cold, and his heart was breaking as he hurriedly worked at the ropes binding her to the tree.

"Oh my God… Sherlock, what happened to you?"

She didn't answer, numbly shaking her head. "M'sorry… M'so sorry, John."

"Sorry? What for? You did nothing wrong! Now just hold still, and I'll get these off you…"

"I shouldn't have left… You didn't do anything wrong." Sherlock stopped, biting her lip to suppress a cry and shuddering from the cold. "M'sorry, John. Please forgive me."

"Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong- Aha! There we go. C'mon, Sherlock, let's get you out of here." He hurriedly shed his coat, swaddling her in the parka despite her weak protests. "Can you walk?"

She shook her head, whimpering, "John, I can't even feel my legs."

He hefted her up into his arms, hooking his one arm beneath her legs and the other around her back. Her tears continued to flow, freezing against her cheeks as she leaned into his hold. "Ssh. Ssh. Ssh. It's alright. I'll get us back to the cabin. Just relax…"

* * *

John winced at the sharp cry of pain elicited as he eased Sherlock's feet into a basin of warm water. She had already been fed, and she was now seated in front of the fireplace, covered in blankets, dressed in the warmest pajamas possible, and clutching a mug of hot chocolate in a pair of freezing hands.

"Well, at least I can feel my feet now," she whispered thoughtfully, teeth still chattering.

"Sherlock, what happened to you?" he whispered softly, massaging her feet gently in the water in a hope to keep the circulation running. He secretly marveled at how tiny she was, her foot being able to be so easily held in his well-worked but still soft hands. He didn't mind giving the massage. In fact, he insisted upon it. Her skin was just so soft, and he couldn't resist.

She was, in reality, his princess. Despite the improperness of it all, he simply loved pampering her. In his opinion, she needed and deserved it more than anyone. She was just so mistreated and verbally abused…

"I- I don't know, John, and I hate not knowing…" Sherlock shivered violently, and he felt his heart break at the look of pain flickering across her features. "There were four men, I think… Maybe. I couldn't tell."

"No, not about that. We'll discuss that when Detective Inspector Lestrade arrives… Sherlock, what happened to make you leave in the first place?"

She shook her head, averting his gaze from his. "It was nothing. Just another stupid mood."

"That wasn't like any of your foul moods before," he denied, slowly and gently releasing her foot. He wiped his hands off on a towel before moving to grasp her hands in his. "Sherlock, please. I want to help, and I can't help unless you tell me what's bothering you."

"I've told you before; there is nothing you can do."

"Really, Sherlock?" He was getting desperate. "Sherlock, if I hadn't found you when I did, you would have died out there. I want to know what made my best friend nearly get killed. Please, I'll do anything, absolutely anything, if you would just tell me!"

She looked up at that, considering the offer carefully. "_Anything_?"

He nodded fervently. "Anything, Sherlock."

"Do you swear it?"

"I promise you I will do anything!"

"Then don't hate me for this."

John's heart must have stopped. He must have been delusional, dreaming, or maybe hallucinating, because he would have sworn by all that was good that Sherlock's lips were on his.

Of course, he didn't protest it. Even if it were a mere dream, he was not going to miss the chance to kiss the Sherlock Holmes, the love of his life, his obsession, his princess, and besides. Her lips were just so soft and simply demanding that he kiss her back.

So that's what he did.

He slowly rose from his kneeling position, lips never parting from hers, and put his hands on the armrest, pressing his mouth against hers almost ravenously. He sought to learn every curve of that perfect mouth, and that's exactly what he did. He pressed closer to her, slowly guiding his hand along the armrest until it rested on her finely curved hip while he moved his other hand to hold the back of her head.

They pulled away slowly, not wanting to part but needing breath. Her eyes were now an adorable baby blue, staring up at him with more innocence than he had thought possible.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" he breathed in disbelief, forehead pressed against hers as he slid his eyes shut again after watching her pretty eyes close. She shook her head, not even gathering the strength to speak.

"Sherlock, do you really feel this way?" he questioned, keeping his voice soft and loving. When she nodded, he smiled. "Oh, you cannot understand how happy that makes me."

"How did I… How did I do?" she asked rather timidly, her eyes opening so he could get a glimpse of those beautiful sapphire orbs.

"How did you do?" John's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The- The kiss," she stammered, nervously letting her hands pick at his jumper. "I've never done it before, and I- I just didn't know-"

"Sherlock… Oh, Sherlock, ssh…" he soothed, gently brushing his hand across her cheek. He couldn't help but smile. He was Sherlock's first love and her first kiss. That was something to relish, and he planned to relish her until the day he died. He did exactly that, placing the softest, gentlest kiss on her lips he could muster. He gazed at her lovingly, whispering, "Oh, Sherlock, it was perfect."

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**Author's Note: And there's the end! I hope you enjoyed this, and if you could drop a review, it'd mean the world! I'm with the opinion that all criticism is good criticism so critique away (although manners would be appreciated). If you expected a plot, though, I'm sorry. I just needed some fluff. :P  
**


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